


terrible angels

by her_black_tights



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Consensual Underage Sex, Dirty Talk, F/M, Kink Meme, Madi is a very horny 16 year old and Bellamy cannot handle it, Underage Drinking, Unhealthy Relationships, Unsafe Sex, aged up Madi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-25
Updated: 2020-01-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 09:02:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22395286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/her_black_tights/pseuds/her_black_tights
Summary: At 38, Bellamy Blake finally has the quiet life he’s always wanted. He has a house, that he owns, in a very desirable neighborhood in Portland, Oregon. He has a good job, running his own landscaping company. His sister is going to graduate school in Seattle and finally seems like she’s on the right track.But, then, Clarke Griffin and her petulant 16 year old Madi move in next door and everything goes straight to shit.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Madi
Comments: 26
Kudos: 19
Collections: The 100 Kinkmeme Round 2020





	terrible angels

**Author's Note:**

> For the kink meme prompt: Madi (aged up a little?) is super manipulative and wants her neighbor Bellamy. He is into it. Single mom Clarke super grateful to have somewhere for Madi to hang out when she isn't around. Madi convinces Bellamy to marry Clarke so they can share a house.
> 
> Thank you so much to whoever prompted this and to the Kink Meme admin! This is one of the most bad-wrong things I've ever written and I loved every second of it. There is a very good chance I will be adding more to this 'verse because I love it.

Bellamy Blake had, at one point thought himself to be a good man.

Not a great one, but a better than most. The kind who people ask to watch their houses while they were out of town. Who organizes canned food drives at for the neighborhood every year around the holidays, because he knows what it’s like to be eaten up by hunger’s dull ache. Who raised a petulant imp of a girl from 10 to 18 after his mother decided that being high all the time was more interesting than being a parent. 

He is an exemplary neighbor, who always paid his HOA dues on time, whose yard had been certified as a Backyard Habitat by the Aubudon Society because of his commitment to maintaining a garden full of sustainable, native foliage. He has a good work ethic and makes his living running his own landscaping business. He always gives money to homeless people and, when he doesn’t have any cash on him, he’ll buy them a meal.

And, while his life isn’t anything extraordinary or grandiose, it’s a good life. The kind that a decent man like him deserves. 

Then, Clarke Griffin and her 16 year old daughter Madi move into the house next door to his and everything goes straight to shit. 

*

He likes Madi and Clarke, upon first meeting them. A couple days after they move in, he makes them a pan of his famous lasagna and knocked on their door, like he usually does whenever someone new moves to the neighborhood. 

Madi answers the door. She is taller than he expected, standing at 5’8 to his 5’11”. He does not like how he immediately registers her beauty upon first looking at her. The way his eyes cannot help but find their way first to the soft pink of her plump lips, then the small bit of midriff reveled between the end of her crop top and the waistband of her jeans, then back to her eyes, crisp and blue and lined in black. 

“Who are you?” she asks, sticking her chin out defiantly. Behind her, he can see boxes, pilled up in the corners. 

“I’m Bellamy. I live next door. I wanted to come over and welcome you all to the neighborhood,” he says, like he always does, but, it doesn’t sound quite right, a little too rough. He catches himself looking at her tits, tiny and pert and threatening to fall out of the bottom of her shirt. 

He does not know if he imagined it, but when he remembers their first meeting, he always pictures her catching him and smiling, her teeth white and sharp and crisp against the pink of her mouth. The edge of desire in her eyes as she took him in. The soft blush, coloring her cheeks, as she must realize what it means to be wanted by a man like him. 

Before it got worse, her mother, Clarke, comes to the door, curious about the commotion. She is as beautiful as her daughter, if not more-so, especially due to the fact that she is a far more appropriate romantic option for him. She thanks him profusely for the lasagna and insists that he come in for some iced tea on this unbearably warm July day. 

He tells himself the heat was the only reason he accepted, and not the way Madi’s intent gaze is making him feel. 

While Clarke pours him a tall glass of iced tea, they make conversation. She and Madi just moved to Portland. Clarke is a graphic designer who got a job working for one of the marketing firms downtown. Madi is 16 and is about to start her junior year. She is on the soccer team and all AP/Honors classes. From the way Clarke lets out exasperated, little puffs of breath while talking about her daughter, Bellamy can deduce that she’s a handful. She doesn’t mention anything about a co-parent, and he’s only seen her dark blue Subaru in the driveway since the moving truck left. 

Clarke has a pretty smile, a deep, husky laugh, eyes like starlight. She leans close to him when she pours him his second glass of iced tea and he can smell her perfume on the ear when she leaned away, jasmine, lavender, honeysuckle. 

They talk for a while, longer than Bellamy has talked to a stranger in a while. He startles when he looked up at the window and saw how far the sun had dipped from the horizon. Exclaims in surprise when he looks over at the clock above Clarke’s oven and sees that it is past 7pm and he knocked at her door at 5pm.

“Shit, sorry. I gotta go. I was supposed to call my sister an hour ago,” he says, getting up from her counter. She is sad to see him go and isn’t very good at hiding it. That makes him like her even more. She asks him to come over for dinner sometime soon. Their awkward goodbye is cut off by the sound of someone flying down the stairs. 

He sees her legs first, long and lean and muscled. Then, the rest of her, a tiny pair of shorts and a bikini top. It takes every ounce of self-control he has to keep his mouth from dropping open. 

“Where are you headed off to?” Clarke asks. There is no edge in her voice, only motherly curiosity.

“Aden’s. He’s having a pool party,” she says, casual as anything, but Bellamy catches the way her cheeks pinked when she feels his eyes on her. The way she cocks her hip a little, so he can see more of her tight, toned ass. 

“Okay, just remember you need to be home by midnight.”

Madi rolls her eyes. “Yeah, sure,” she says, before running down the stairs and out the door. Before she leaves, she glances over her shoulder to see if he’s checking her out. Unfortunately, he is, and her grin has such a sick edge to it that it’s almost enough to make him hard right there, right now. 

“Sorry about that. She’s going through a real shithead phase,” Clarke says, offhandedly, as she walks him to the door. 

“Oh, no need to apologize. I raised my baby sister and she was the biggest shithead of them all.”

Clarke laughs. He likes the way making her laugh feels. He tries to focus on that feeling, instead of the hot rush of arousal that accompanied looking at Madi.

“Finally, someone who gets it,” she says. She pauses for a moment, looking at her feet. Looks up at him with the prettiest blush dusted across her cheeks. “I’m sorry if I’m being forward but would you want to come over for dinner on Friday? It’s been nice, talking to an adult for once. I promise Madi will be at least a little better behaved.”

He swallows. He pictures himself refusing. He thinks he could find a way to do it without hurting her feelings. Maybe claim that he already has plans and then just go see a movie that night. Then, when she invites him again, he can make another excuse and they can go back-and-forth like that, until she gives up. 

But, something pushes him to say yes. As he walks back to his house, he wishes that it could be the part of him that enjoyed Clarke’s company, who found her just as intelligent as he found her beautiful. 

Instead, it’s the part of him of him that can’t stop thinking about the way Madi’s tiny, pert tits looked, spilling out of her bikini top. 

*

Just like when he came by with the lasagna, Madi answers the door on Friday night. 

He wishes he could say that he was better this time. That, he wasn’t caught off guard, again, by how lovely and then how fucking sexy she is. That, he didn’t check her out just as badly as he did when he first did and that she didn’t return the favor. That, a current that wasn’t unlike electricity traveled between them and that he wanted nothing more than to take hold of it and let it destroy him.

Instead, it’s just as bad as the first time, if not worse, and her grin is even sharper and crueler and sweeter and he wishes he could cut himself on it. 

“Hey Bilbo.”

“My name’s Bellamy.”

“That’s what I said. Anyway, Mom’s been cooking ever since she got home from work. I think she’s trying to impress you,” she says. She’s wearing a floral dress and he assumes that she wore this outfit to appease her mother. Still, he can tell it’s a dress from when she was younger, before she shot up like a weed. It just barely covers her ass and it’s a struggle to pull his eyes away from the creamy white of her thighs.

“Oh. Really?” he manages. Madi hones her grin. She leans against the doorpost, taking him in. 

“Yeah, really. I think she’s into you.”

Bellamy swallows. He can feel heat rising to his cheeks. He brought them flowers and the plastic of the bouquet is sticking uncomfortably to his hand with sweat. 

Before his brain melts trying to come up with some type of socially appropriate response to what Madi just said to him, Clarke appears behind her. 

“Bellamy! You’re early. Oh, and you brought flowers!” she exclaims, rosy-cheeked and clueless. She takes the flowers from him, beaming, and leads him into the house. 

Madi follows.

The house is more unpacked than it was when he was here on Tuesday. From the furniture and decor that has been extricated, Bellamy has now learned that Clarke is a woman with impeccable taste, who likes all the same modern, midcentury bullshit that he does but has enough money to afford it. He works hard to swallow the class-based resentment that climbs up his throat like heartburn whenever he’s around people who have been luckier than him. 

“Sorry for the mess. As you can see, we’re still unpacking,” Clarke says as she leads him into the kitchen. A pristine, glass dining room table that Bellamy would give his left nut to own now sits in the dining area and the table’s set with the makings of an amazing meal: a giant bowl of salad, a basket of fresh baked rolls, a heaping pile of pasta sodden with a thick, sumptuous sauce, cheese, and meatballs. 

He has to admit that Madi might be onto something. 

“Don’t worry about it. This looks amazing,” he says. 

Clarke blushes prettily and takes a seat at the table. Madi’s already taken hers, across from Bellamy. He weighs his options: taking the seat across from her or looking like a psychopath and sitting at the other end of table, far away from both of them.

With a heavy heart, he takes the seat in front of him.

Clarke serves them. As she does so, she tries to pretend this meal is a little something that she whipped up, apropos of nothing. It’s cute, the way she tries to hide the thought and intention that went into it. He can’t help but be charmed by it, lean in a little too close to her when she serves him salad so she gets all flustered and almost drops the bowl. 

“Smooth, Mom,” Madi snorts, derisively. Clarke sticks her tongue out at her daughter and sets the bowl back on the table. 

“Smartasses serve themselves,” she says, simply. Madi ignores the salad and takes a roll from the basket. 

“So, Bellamy, how long have you lived in this neighborhood?” Clarke asks. 

He swallows the bite of salad he was chewing. “My whole life, actually. That was my mom’s house, when I was growing up. She left it to me when she died,” he says. He watches Madi sit up in her seat, chewing her roll with her mouth more than a little open.

Clarke makes the soft, sympathetic sound that grown-ups do when they hear that someone has died. Still, there’s something more genuine about it than the other times he’s heard it. 

“When did your mom die?” Madi asks.

“Madi, stop it. That’s rude,” Clarke says, turning bright red. She turns to Bellamy, sheepish with shame. “I’m so sorry, you don’t have to answer that.”

Bellamy shrugs. Thankfully for Madi, his mother’s death has never been something that he’s been sentimental about. Even before she devolved into drug addiction, she hadn’t been a particularly attentive mother. Both he and Octavia had been attempts to hold onto men who never particularly cared for her in the first place.

She was home sporadically and, when she was, she did not make much time for being a mother. Between work, sleeping around, and then, later, her pill addiction, she sometimes bought groceries, sometimes was around to sign important forms for school, and, very rarely, was there in moments of need. Very quickly, Bellamy, and later Octavia, learned how to be self-sufficient. 

By the time she fucked off and finally let him legally adopt Octavia, both of them had started calling her “Aurora” and changed the lock so she had to knock whenever she came over. Her death came shortly after that and, sometimes, when Bellamy can’t sleep at night, he can’t help but wonder how accidental her lethal overdose was until he starts believing that he’s the most vile sort of monster.

“It’s fine, really. She died 18 years ago,” he says. 

“What from?”

“Madi!”

Bellamy has to hold back a laugh. Really, this girl is something else. He can’t help but grow fonder of her and the sly way she’s smiling at him, like she thinks she’s some grand provocateur, exposing the inanity of politeness. Clarke, on the other hand, is not amused.

He comes to Madi’s rescue: “Clarke, really, I don’t mind. It happened a long time ago,” he says. She seems to like that and the anger melts from her face, turning into something softer, shyer. 

“She died from a drug overdose,” he says, plainly. After a few moments of shocked silence, he goes back to eating his salad. 

“Oh, Bellamy, I’m so sorry,” Clarke coos. She grasps his hand in hers. He likes the way it feels. He likes the way she’s looking at him, soft and kind and a little sexy. He lets her soothe her thumb up and down his hand for a few moments. 

“Thank you,” he says, before giving her hand a final squeeze. He lets it drop to the table, if only because they need to finish eating their meal. Madi’s looking at both of them in absolute revulsion. 

“You guys are disgusting,” she says, before getting up from her seat and walking out of the dining room and up the stairs. 

Bellamy’s thankful for her disappearance, if only because it means he can focus entirely on Clarke and his very legal, very appropriate attraction to her. She’s turned bright red from embarrassment, her face in her hands. 

“I’m also very sorry that my child is a nightmare,” she says, peaking out from between her fingers. Bellamy laughs, reaches out, pulls her hands from her face. She smiles up at him when he can see her face once more. She has teeth like a toothpaste model. He could look at her smile all day, he thinks. He doesn’t know if he’s felt many things better than how it feels on his skin. 

“I’m really not bothered by it at all. She seems like a good kid, deep down,” he offers. 

Clarke disagrees with him, but conversation flows easily from that point onward. They make some bullshit small talk about each other’s work weeks, the TV shows they watch, what kind of food they like to cook. 

She asks him about Octavia and he brags about how his baby sister is a whiz at learning new languages and is getting her Masters in Linguistics. He asks her about where they lived before Portland and she says, with the appropriate amount of shame, that they’re from California, Oakland specifically, and moved because Clarke got a higher paying job out here.

“Which I needed, you know, after the divorce,” she adds. Once Madi got up, she poured both of them two big glasses of wine and they had just finished them. From the pink in Clarke’s cheeks, Bellamy has deduced that she does not drink often and that she’s more than a little tipsy. It’s cute. She’s cute. She’s also over 18, he keeps reminding himself, as his mind keeps circling back to Madi and the hint of ass cheek he caught a glimpse of when she was walking upstairs.

“The divorce?” he asks, pouring her then himself another glass of wine. 

She nods.

“From Madi’s father?” 

Clarke shakes her head. “Madi’s father and I never married. We dated in college and then, right after graduation, he got me pregnant.” She pauses to take a sip of wine, then another. “We tried to make it work but he wasn’t ready to be a dad. He ended up signing over his parental rights in exchange for not having to pay child support.”

Bellamy lets out a low whistle and Clarke laughs. “Yeah, I know. He was a real loser. Anyway, then it was just me and Madi for a while, until I met my ex, Lexa. We dated for a while, got married a couple years ago. It was doomed from the start. She wasn’t the biggest fan of kids. At first, I think she loved me so much that she wanted to make it work with Madi. But, as Madi got older…” she trails off, her eyes going a little fuzzy for a second. “It just wasn’t working. So, we got divorced, she got the house, all of our friends, most of the good furniture, and we got to move to Portland.”

Bellamy lets out a sympathetic sound. Their hands have found their way together over the course of their conversation. He can feel her pulse fluttering against his palm. 

“Well, I’m sorry that you had to go through that because it sounds awful, but I’m glad that you ended up here,” he says because he knows it’s the right thing to say.

She beams at him. He knows that the only reason they aren’t kissing right now is because Madi’s upstairs. He doesn’t think he’s had a first date go this well in years.

They finish eating and he helps her clean up. She walks him to the door. He’s simultaneously relieved and disappointed to see that Madi is nowhere in sight. 

“Thanks for dinner. It was amazing. Honestly, one of the best meals I’ve had in a while.

Clarke blushes. “Oh, you’re just saying that,” she says, suddenly shy. It seems that the wine, that emboldened her to share so much with him, has started to wear off and anxiety has crept back in. 

Suddenly, her expression shifts and she pales with nerves. “Hey, can I ask you something a little weird?”

His heart hammers at the cage of his ribs like it’s trying to escape. He feels the cold itch of sweat dripping down his spine. He has no idea what she’s about to ask him but he feels like there are no good options. Still, he manages to respond: “sure.”

“I have to go out of town on kind of short notice sometimes. My mom’s sick and I’m all she’s got. Now that Madi’s older, it seems silly to get a sitter but could you peek in on her sometimes? Just to check that she’s okay. Maybe make sure she eats a vegetable?”

Well, it’s not as bad as it could be but it isn’t great. He forces a smile. “Of course,” he says. He thinks he sounds convincing, like the prospect of watching her 16 year old does not produce any significant or consequential emotions, thoughts, or feelings that he would feel the need to hide from her. 

“Really? Thank you so much, Bellamy,” she exclaims. She looks like she might want to hug him but shyness is holding her back. He decides to rectify that immediately, wrapping her in his arms. Like he expected, she softens. Her body feels good against his, warms something deep inside him that he’s forgotten about. They stay like that for a while, before he drops his arms, blushing.

“Don’t mention it,” he says. After a few moments, he adds: “I assume I’m going to need your number if I’m going to be watching your kid while you’re out of town?”

Clarke laughs. “Very smooth. I was about to give it to you anyway,” she says.

They exchange numbers. Bellamy thinks he might have made a couple bad jokes that she may have laughed at. He walks away from the house, wearing a wide grin that makes his cheeks hurt. 

He walks up his driveway and to his door. Before he slides his key into the lock, something catches the corner of his eye: light where there’s usually darkness. He glances over to see that Madi’s window, on the second floor, is illuminated. 

Her back’s to him, but he can see that she’s standing in front of her bed, hair wet from the shower, wrapped in a towel. He knows he should look away. He wills himself to look away. But, he is a man possessed and when she drops the towel, the things that flash through his mind are so vile he surprises himself with his own depravity. 

He tries to open his door with a shaking hand. It takes him way too long and his need to jerk off is almost a medical emergency. Unable to help himself, he glances at the window again.There, he sees Madi, completely naked. His mouth falls open. 

When their eyes meet, she smiles at him and waves, before pulling her curtain closed. Almost as though she planned the whole thing. 

*

That night, after he saw Madi naked, in her window, and then brought himself to one of the most satisfying orgasms he’s ever had, in his fucking entryway, he told himself that that was going to be the end of it. 

Nothing had happened yet. Sure, he had checked her out and she had definitely checked him out and, there is, most assuredly, attraction going both ways. He isn’t an idiot. He knows that he is a good-looking man. Octavia had once told him that he had “real Daddy energy” but he had no idea what she meant and, when she explained it to him, it had just made him feel old, so he had not pressed her further. 

Based upon how many younger women take him in hungrily whenever he does his morning run through the neighborhood, he assumes that it’s a good thing. 

And, yes, he could not deny that part of it was at least in the thrill. The allure of teaching her a lesson, of wiping that smug little grin of hers off of her face when she realizes who’s really in control. 

For every fantasy he has about deflowering her gently (if she is still a virgin, which seems at least a little up in the air, considering the way she’s been throwing herself at him) with soft kisses and tender touches, he has at least 3 where he throws her down on his bed and fucks her until she screams and makes him bleed with her nails and her teeth. 

But, he knows it needs to end. Not with how well things are going with Clarke. They’ve been texting, most days and nights. She’s a sparkling conversationalist, who always has something interesting to share. Unlike most women he’s dated, she doesn’t look down on his choice of career and asks him thoughtful, direct questions that always give him an important to show her how much he knows about gardening, plants, and Portland’s weather patterns. In turn, he tries to learn more about her, but his questions are never as good.

And, he’s attracted to her, too. He’d be lying if he said that he wants to fuck Clarke as much as he wants to fuck her daughter. But, that’s only because he’s starting to think that his attraction to Madi might be due to a brain tumor or a mental break or a side effect of some medication he’s taken or a sign that God has truly decided to forsake him after a lifetime of bullshit. 

Because, in any other situation, he’d be completely gone over Clarke. She’s smart, beautiful, and doesn’t let him get away with anything. Sometimes, at night, when she’s cooking dinner, she calls him and they talk on the phone. He pretends he gets all the intricate, gourmet shit she’s doing but, she always calls him out on it. When he tells her about errands he’s planning on running, she remembers it and brings it up later, then gives him a hard time if he says he forgot or decided it was too much work. 

She’s the first person to ask him about his mother’s death in a long time and she always does it in such a gracious way, a kind way, a way that suggests that she understands what it’s like to hurt like that. To go on living, when the person who brought you into the world is gone. Later, when they’ve been texting back and forth for over a week, she reveals that her father died when she was 16 and that her mother’s been a wreck ever since. The exact nature of that wreck has to be revealed to Bellamy, but, it seems to be the reason why Clarke has to go out of town so often.

Beyond that, she’s a very impressive person. When they first met, she was fairly mum on what her job entailed other than it involved graphic design but, when he presses her further, it becomes clear that Clarke is a big deal where she works, the Director of Strategy, whatever the fuck that means. She’s a little shy about it, she says, which is why she didn’t tell him initially. 

“Usually, guys are scared off when they find out that I make more money than they do,” she says, offhandedly, during a coffee date. He smiles. “Well, the good news is my masculinity isn’t that easily threatened,” he replies and he watches the way her eyes go wide and her mouth goes soft and he thinks, this should be good enough for him. This should be what he wants.

Clarke tells him that she’d like to take things slow. “I spook easy,” she explains, taking a sip of her latte. They’re at the coffee shop that’s only a couple blocks from their place. It’s a bright Tuesday morning and they’re grabbing coffee together before their respective work days. 

Clarke chose a table outside. Bellamy was initially skeptical, but he likes watching the sunlight dance in her eyes. They’re both almost done with their coffees and he knows they’re both putting off finishing them, so they can soak up as much of each other’s time as possible. 

“Are you commitment-phobic?” He asks, not without an edge of teasing. 

She shrugs, pretends to be real interested in the small pool of coffee, sitting at the bottom of her cup. “I mean, it’s hard not to be when you’ve had as many relationships blow up in your face as I have,” she says.

Once again, she shocks him with her authenticity. How she never is anything other than herself. The ease with which she shares things with him, the comfort she has in herself and who she is.

“Well, that makes two of us.”

Clarke snorts. “That doesn’t surprise me.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asks, raising an eyebrow. 

“Oh, nothing shitty or anything like that. I’ve just been wondering what the catch with you is. You’re kind, you’re well-read, you have a stable job, you own your own house, you’re so good-looking it’s honestly aggravating, and you don’t hate kids. My money was either on terrible at relationships or serial killer,” she says. “I’m really glad you ended up being the former, by the way. I think that we can figure that out. Together. Because, in that department, I’m probably just as fucked as you are,” she adds, with one of her toothpaste model smiles. 

Bellamy smiles too, though his is less genuine. They talk a bit more and he walks her to her car. He knows that he could kiss her now. Fuck, he thinks she’s expecting it, from the way she peers up at him as she opens her door. 

And, he wants to, he really does. The only thing holding him back is that there’s a way bigger catch than Clarke even realizes. 

He waves at her while she drives away and tries to ignore the sick feeling that’s taken root in his stomach.

*

It’s not that he wants to fuck a 16 year old, it’s just that the 16 year old in question is making it near impossible to think about much else.

Before dinner at Clarke’s, he saw Madi rarely. He worked odd hours and would sometimes be gone from 7am to 7pm and, on the days he didn’t work, he typically spent most of his time either working on his house or on his yard. His other hobbies including reading thick history books, collecting vinyl records, working out, and listening to political podcasts and yelling at them whenever he disagreed with them (which was often). His life was small but he had chosen its size deliberately and thoughtfully. 

After a childhood and adolescence of constant struggle, he knows all he can take right now is ease.

He had always been a lonely boy and he has grown into a solitary man, who tires of people easily and finds groups of them to be even worse. Texting back and forth with Clarke everyday, on top of the on-going conversations he has with Octavia, Miller, and Murphy, almost too much, but the sweetness of her smile and the warmth of his fondness for her make it worth it. 

Whenever he walked into his home, he prayed that he would not see one person until he felt rested enough to emerge again. 

However, Madi has started to pop up with alarming frequency, to the point where he’s begun to wonder if she was sent by God himself to punish him. 

One Wednesday, she decides to start tanning in their front yard whenever the sun peeks out of the clouds. 

On first pass, Bellamy tells himself that this is harmless. She is a 16 year old girl, suffering through her first Pacific Northwest summer. She must be starved for sunshine. 

Still, that does not explain why, every single sunny day, she seems to inch further and further onto Bellamy’s lawn, which, unfortunately, Bellamy’s kitchen looks out onto. Or, how she seems to have picked up on what days he’s home. And, what times he’s usually in the kitchen.

*

The tanning in the front yard is just the beginning. 

Bellamy has just gotten home from work, hasn’t had a chance to shower yet. He pulls off his sweat-soaked t-shirt as soon as he walks in and is rustling around in his fridge when the knock comes, rapid and panicked. 

Old instincts, from when his mother was always breaking down his door, begging for money, kick in. He flies toward the door in a fury, ready to tell at whoever is on the other side to fuck off. 

Imagine his surprise when he opens the door, shirtless, sweaty, with dirty pair of jeans hanging precariously off his hips, to see Madi, standing on the other side.

“Is now a bad time?” she asks, taking him in. He’s unprepared for the hungry drag of her eyes as they crawl up his body. He’s no body-builder but, he knows he’s in pretty good shape, especially for a man his age.

“Kind of. Just got home from work. What’s up?”

She preens prettily and settles her weight on one of her hips. The outfit she’s wearing today is fairly tame, a vintage t-shirt tucked into a pair of high-waisted jean shorts. But, she has ruined him so completely that all he can think about is that he knows what she looks like, under her clothes, the exact shadow her breasts cast across her ribcage, can almost feel the sharpness of her hipbones in his hands. How the dusting of curls across her pussy might feel beneath his fingers. 

“Mom asked me to get some unpacking done while she’s at work but all the boxes we have left are too heavy and I can’t move them. She said I should just ask you if I needed any help,” she says, though, she says the majority of her words to his abs.

Bellamy knows that this is all a ruse. Madi is smiling at him, just as sharp-toothed as ever, and, he has a feeling that mothers typically do not ask their teenage daughters to lift and unpack very heavy boxes. 

“Fine. Where are these boxes?”

Madi beams. He can see the pink of her tongue, hiding behind her teeth. “In the garage. Follow me.”

“Hold on, I need to put a shirt on.”

He grabs the nearest shirt that he can find, another sweaty work shirt, discarded near the door when he got home from work. Her disappointment is palpable when he emerges clothed. 

“Come on,” she says, before grabbing him by the hand and leading him down his driveway and toward her house. 

Madi opens the garage door. The entirety of the space is covered in moving boxes. “Which one?” he asks. She startles a little at his question. Almost as though she had forgotten that the boxes had been the reason that she had grabbed his hand.

“Oh. I guess all of them?”

“All of them?” Bellamy asks, staring around at the sea of tan in front of him. 

Madi shrugs. “Sure. I’ll show you where to put them,” she says. Bellamy raises an eyebrow. Surely, she cannot be serious. She doesn’t really think that he’s going to carry these boxes all over her house, just because she’s asked him to. 

“Get to it,” she says, pointing at the box. 

He feels a spark of something hot in his chest. At first he thinks it’s anger, at the fact that this fucking teenager is telling him what to do, with such self-assuredness. But, as it settles in his chest and takes root, he realizes it’s simultaneously far more complex and far more stupid than that.

Unsurprisingly, he finds Madi ordering him in that bitchy little voice of hers extremely hot. 

Because, it just makes him think about how sweet it would be to crowd her against the wall. Back her into a corner, surround her with the mass of him, until her hackles are raised and she realizes who really is in charge here. He hungers for the way he knows her eyes will go wide, pupils dilating with lust, as she gives in to him. 

He carries the first box out of the garage and into the living room. It’s heavy but not especially so - feels like something sturdy but not important. Madi tells him to deposit it in the living room, next to the sofa. Then, she has him take a heavier one from the garage to Clarke’s office on the first floor. Then, another couple to the living room. By the time she asks him to bring the largest and heaviest up the stairs to her room, he’s drenched with sweat and half-hard, from watching the bounce of Madi’s ass as she leads him from place to place and the fuck-hungry way she keeps wrapping her lips around his name. 

Her bedroom is up the stairs, the first door on the right. She opens it for him, revealing her bedroom. It’s bigger than any room he lived in when he was a kid, with a large, canopy Princess bed in the middle, and bookcases lining the walls. The floor is covered with clothes all of varying stages of cleanliness. There are an ungodly amount of water cups sitting on the nightside table.

“Put the boxes there,” she says, gesturing toward the corner next to her bed. He does as she asks. His forehead is dripping with sweat. Once his hands are free, he lifts the bottom of his t-shirt to wipe the sweat from his forehead, revealing the muscles that frame his pelvis. When he drops the shirt, he sees Madi staring at him, eyes eating every inch of him up, her cheeks a soft red. 

“Is this it? Or do you have any other heavy objects you’d like me to carry around for your enjoyment?”

Madi eyes go wide, like she’s surprised he’s figured her out. She must be used to boys her age, who are so overcome with hormones and their need to get their dicks inside someone that they aren’t able to think clearly. But, before long, that same smile from before, just as cruel as ever, reveals her teeth.

“I mean, there is one other thing,” she says, closing the distance between them. Bellamy sucks in a breath. Being around her is one thing, having her close to him is an entirely different beast, and he has to grit his teeth with how badly he wants to kiss her plump, fuckable mouth.

“What’s that?” 

He knows he should not have responded. He knows that he should tell her that he can’t be in her room, alone with her, without her mother home and to leave without another word or lingering glance. 

That’s what a good man would do. 

But, instead, he does not pull away when she leans in real close to him. It’s with a mixture of revulsion and arousal that he registers that she uses the same shampoo as Clarke. 

“Don’t be stupid, Bellamy. I know you want me,” she says. She brushes her fingers along the waistband of his jeans and he sucks in a breath.

“Madi,” he says, firmly, catching her hand in his. It is so small, almost doll-like. He feels her pulse fluttering in her palm, hard and fast. He is disgusted with how difficult it is to refuse her. Here she is, in her bedroom, asking him to do the very thing he’s dreamed of doing to her every day since she came into his life and ruined it. He can feel how badly she wants him, can see the trembling of her bottom lip as she looks up at him, pupil eating up iris.

“Please,” she breathes. She grasps his hand in in one of hers and unbuttons her shorts with the other. Suddenly, she’s slipped his hand into her underwear and presses his fingers into her wetness. He lets out a groan as he draws his fingers through it, feels how hot and ready she is for him. She’s gone scary still, her eyes shuttered closed and her mouth hanging open. Unable to help himself, he brushes the rough of his thumb against her swollen, desperate clit and she cries out with how good it is, her head falling to his shoulder. “More,” she presses against his skin, and he’s completely at her mercy, willing to do anything that will make her make that noise again. 

The sound of the garage door opening echoes through the room. Bellamy and Madi spring apart like they’ve been electrocuted. 

“Madi? I’m home,” Clarke cries out, a few moments later as she walks into the house. “There are a lot less boxes in the garage. Did you do something weird with them or were you actually helpful for once?”

“Fuck,” Madi curses, her face beet red. Bellamy regains his composure faster than she does. 

“Just follow my lead. Try to act normal,” Bellamy says, which she promptly rolls her eyes at. Still, she fixes her shorts and follows him out of her room and onto the landing. 

Clarke looks up, shocked to see him and probably even more shocked to see him emerging from her daughter’s room. “Bellamy? What are you doing here?”

“Madi asked me to help her move some boxes,” he says. His heart is pounding painful hard against his chest but he think his easy, short response puts Clarke’s mind at ease. 

“Yeah, I remember you saying last night you really wanted the garage to be clear before the weekend,” Madi says, her words lit and frothy with false good will. 

“Oh, that’s so sweet of you guys,” she says. He can tell that him and Madi, working together, means something special to her. 

They go downstairs. Clarke pulls Madi into a vice-tight hug as soon as she’s close enough. Then, she asks Bellamy if he would like to stay for dinner. 

He knows he can’t say yes. Not with the line he has crossed. There’s no way he’ll be able to sit at that dining room table, across from Madi, next to Clarke, when he now knows that she wants him just as badly as he wants her.

He turns Clarke down, saying that he hasn’t had a chance to shower or change since he got off work and he’s feeling tired. She accepts his refusal with grace, but he can see that she’s a little disappointed. He tells himself that he’ll fix that later. 

Both Griffin women say goodbye to him and he slips out their door. Once outside, he brings his hand that Madi slipped inside her underwear to the light. One of his fingers glints with her wetness. Like a man possessed, he brings it to his mouth and sucks.

She tastes like heaven and, in that moment, he knows that there’s no resisting her. 

*

The call from Clarke comes that Friday, around dinnertime. He’s surprised when he sees her name flashing across his phone, as he remembers that she told him that she was working late. When he accepts the call, his hello is cut off by Clarke, her words sharp and jumbled with panic. 

“Hey, I’m so sorry to call you like this, out of the blue.”

“It’s fine,” he says, leaning against his kitchen counter. “What’s up?”

Clarke lets out a long, belabored sigh. From the wet way air catches rough in her throat, it sounds like she might have been crying. 

“Remember when I asked you whether you could watch Madi sometimes when I’m out of town?”

Bellamy freezes. He had known that this would happen eventually, but he had been hoping he would have more time, to shore up his defenses, to prepare for the onslaught of Madi. He knows that this is a foolish wish and that more time would have changed nothing. In the days between now and the first time he touched her, he’s accepted his fate. He knows what he will do, no matter how much he knows that he should choose differently. 

“Yeah. Has something come up?”

He hears Clarke clear her throat. “Yeah. It’s my mom. She’s…Well, let’s just say that your mom and my mom have a lot in common.”

Well, he had not been expecting that. He had assumed that Clarke’s mother was sick with something noble like cancer.

“Is she an addict?”

Clarke sniffles on the other line. “Yeah. She got into a car accident a couple years ago where she fucked up her back pretty bad and got prescribed an obscene amount of painkillers. I think you can fill in the blanks.”

“Fuck, Clarke. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. Anyway, she just relapsed after being sober for a couple months and she needs someone to help her get her shit figured out.”

Bellamy lets out a breath. He always had a feeling that Clarke is a better person than him but this confirms it. He had given up on her mother during her relapses, her trips to rehab, her half-hearted attempts to get better. He was cruel to her and took pleasure in it. It was comeuppance, he told himself, for a lifetime of being mistreated, ignored, and taken for granted. But, now, at the age of 38, not too much younger than she was when she died, the anger that propelled him to that decision has wilted and gave way to doubt. Getting older softens the hardest parts of you.

“Bellamy?” 

The panic of Clarke’s voice snaps him out of the self-loathing spiral he’s fallen into. 

“Shit, sorry. Got distracted. When are you leaving?”

She lets out a soggy little laugh. “I’m actually at the airport right now. I had to head there straight from work. Madi knows. Can you please make sure she eats something or dinner and gets in bed at a reasonable hour tonight and tomorrow? I’ll be home Sunday night.” 

He knows this means that he should say no and avoid Madi completely. Maybe call up Octavia and see if she’s willing to drive down from Seattle to keep a 16 year old company.

Or, he could tell Clarke the truth: her daughter’s been coming onto him and it’s not a good idea for them to be alone together. He would, of course, exclude the fact that, just a couple days ago, he put his hand into said daughter’s underwear. 

He knows all the things he should do. He’s always been good at knowing. At figuring out what people want from him. Sometimes, it’s like he can feel people’s desires under his skin, moving his ligaments and bones into the right configurations. He’s lived like this or so long he’s forgotten what it feels like to want something for himself. To be selfish, in all the ways that his mother was. To think only of himself and to not give a fuck about anyone else. 

He tells her he’s happy to watch Madi. When Clarke apologizes, asks him if he had anything else planned for the weekend that this is ruining, he puts her mind at ease. “I mean, most of my plans involved hanging out with you,” he says, because he knows it will sweeten her. Make her think fondly of him, as she sits on the plane, looking out the window. 

“Thank you so much, Bellamy.”

She hangs up the phone. Bellamy stares blankly at the wall. 

Then, he gets his shit together and heads over to Clarke’s, where he knows Madi is waiting for him. 

*

She does not smile but he can tell she’s pleased when she opens the door and sees him on the other side. 

“Your mom asked me to hang out with you tonight,” he says. 

She raises an eyebrow. “Really? That’s what you’re going with?” she asks, before turning around and walking back into the house. He follows, hypnotized by sliver of ass cheek that’s hanging out of her athletic shorts. She leads him into the kitchen, where she has music blaring on the stereo, something loud and discordant with periodic screaming. She already has poured herself a glass of wine, no doubt from the cache of bottles that Clarke has told him she keeps stowed away for special occasions.

“It’s the truth,” he says, indignantly. “Also, I don’t think your mom would approve of you drinking,” he adds, as he watches her take a hearty gulp of her glass of wine.

“Yeah, well, I don’t think she would approve of you sticking your hand in my underwear, but that sure as hell didn’t stop you,” she says. She then finishes her whole glass of wine and pours herself another.

Well, he had not been expecting that. He realizes this has been his problem, every single time he interacts with her. He always underestimates her, thinking that just because he’s older than her, he’s automatically one step ahead of her. And, it’s so fucking dumb, because she keeps showing him how wrong he is and he never pays attention.

He won’t make that mistake anymore. 

“Would you tell her then?” he asks. He grabs a glass from the cupboard that he knows Clarke keeps them in. Madi fills the glass for him, almost all the way to the top. It makes him smile, the ways she’s still naive to the ways of the world. 

“I might,” is all she replies with a shrug. She leans against the counter behind her. Cocks her head to one side, like she knows it’s gonna drive him crazy. She’s wearing make-up tonight: dark, winged eyeliner, her eyelids pastel pink, glittery dusted all over her cheeks, her lips glossy like a fresh wound. 

In this, she betrays everything. 

“I don’t think you will,” he says. He takes a step toward her. Watches her shoulders jump up a little and her eyes go big, just like he knew they would. Because, as cunning and silver-tongued and cruel as his girl is, as much as she’s fucked up and sharp and starlight, she’s still a girl and he knows how girls like her feel about men like him. 

“Why?” she says and he already know he’s won by the way her voice goes whisper-soft and reedy. 

“Because, if you tell her, then, I won’t fuck you,” he says. “Or, more accurately, I won’t be able to. Because, your mother will never let you see me again,” he murmurs, like he’s telling her a bedtime story. He reaches out and pushes a wayward curl of her hair behind her ear. “And, I’ll probably be in prison,” he adds. He cups her face in his hand. For a moment, she melts into his touch. “And, I know that’s all you want, Madi. You want to be fucked, like the little slut that you know you are. You want to be taught a lesson. You want to be shown that actions have consequences. And, I can do that for you. Better than anyone else.” 

She seems to be considering his offer. He drags his thumb along the length of her cheek. Smooths away a drop of wine from the corner of her mouth. 

“You must have a pretty big ego if you really think I want to have sex with you that badly. How do you know that you’re not just some idiot who I’m stringing along so I can blackmail you later?” she says, steeling herself again.

“I have considered that. And, you’re right. I’m assuming a lot,” he says. He drops the hand that has been caressing her cheek. “But, I also think I can find some evidence to support my argument,” he adds, just to see the way her eyes go wide with panic. Before the spell breaks, he snakes his hand into her athletic shorts and into her underwear.

Just like he expected, she’s drenched.

Maid whimpers as he draws his fingers through the mess she’s made of her panties. He feels her tense when he traces along the seam of her. Her eyes fall closed and she braces herself against the counter. 

“I’ll only make you come if you promise.”

“Promise what?”

“That you won’t tell anyone.” 

As if to punctuate the seriousness of the matter at hand, he smoothes a circle over her clit, just once, and it sends her scrabbling for purchase, her nails digging into his forearm. 

“I promise,” she cries out. “Please, Bellamy, please, stop teasing.”

And, fuck, hearing her beg is so sweet it makes his teeth ache. “Good girl,” he murmurs, gentle and fond against her cheek. She’s trembling a little, her face flushed, her pupils dilated, her fingers white with pressure as he presses his thumb to her clit. He takes it slow at first, rubbing slow circles against her, until her breathes are all tiny, desperate pants, just barely audible over the music. 

It does not take long for her to turn ravenous. He feels her little hand on his wrist. “More,” she asks, her voice already fuck-rough and needy. “Please, Bellamy. I need it,” she adds and he almost comes in his pants right then and there. 

“Need what, baby?”

She stamps her feet, petulant like a child who has been told they need to eat their dinner before they have their dessert. “Your fingers. Inside me,” she says, blinking up at him with those babydoll eyes of hers. 

He grins, almost like he’s proud of her. “Have you ever had someone else’s fingers inside you before?”

She nods, her mouth turning sharp and devilish. He drops his pointer finger to her opening, traces it, nice and slow. 

“Oh, really? Who?”

Her eyes fall closed. He can feel her body trying to pull him in, the wet of her quivering beneath his fingers. Still, she’s a smart girl. She’s figured out that she has to play along to get what she wants. 

“Just some boys from school, last year. And…a couple girls. At soccer camp. Before we moved,” she says and he rewards her immediately, sinking the first two knuckles of his finger inside her. She’s impossibly tight and the sound she makes sharp with pain but sweetened with the promise of pleasure. 

“Tell me when you’re ready for more,” he says, soothing his thumb against her clit,. He’s struggling to keep his composure. He knows he needs to take it slow, but, fuck, her pussy is so tight that it’s almost cutting off the circulation in his finger and he can’t even imagine how it’s gonna feel wrapped around his dick.  
After a few moments, she nods. When he fucks his whole finger into her, she digs her nails deep enough into the thin skin of his wrist that she breaks skin. He doesn’t care, is so completely overcome with how good she feels and how filthy she is, drenching his fingers even more with her arousal.

She makes the sweetest little sounds. He wants to remember them forever. Wishes he could memorialize this moment forever, the way little Madi Griffin looks right before she’s about to come. She’s digging her fingers into his wrist again, asking him again, for more, because his girl is greedy and impatient and that might be the thing he likes the most about her. He gives it to her immediately, slipping another finger inside her, just to see the way her head drops back, feel the way her pussy grips him, and hear what his name sounds like when she’s saying it like a prayer. 

“That’s it, Madi. That’s it,” he says, pressing a kiss to her temple. He only removes his fingers from her once she’s stopped spasming around him and he can no longer feel her pulse radiating throughout her body. She lets out a little sad sigh, eyes fluttering open. Reaches out for his wrists and pulls him close. Yanks his arm so he bends over enough that they’re eye-to-eye.

“You’re good at that,” she says, grinning from ear to ear. Her cheeks are still flushed, her eyes still a little hazy. He can smell her arousal, pooling in her underwear. It’s driving him crazy. She’s driving him crazy. He thought that this was all about showing her who’s in charge, but, he ’s realized he’ll do anything he asks, as long as it means that he gets to fuck her open. 

“What? Are you surprised?”

“I mean, a little bit. My mom got kinda drunk a couple nights ago and asked me if I thought there was something off about you because you haven’t kissed her yet and she’s apparently been dropping hints like crazy,” she says, mischief dancing in her eyes. 

Bellamy feels a blush, creeping up his neck. “Oh. What did you say?”

“Oh, that you’re a big fucking weirdo.” 

Before he can react, she grabs his shirt in her needy little fist and pulls him close so she can kiss him. Wastes no time before slipping her tongue into her mouth, in wrapping her legs around him and pulling him close to her. He lets out a groan when he feels the wetness from her pussy on his jeans. Cups her face in his hand to hold her still as he fucks his tongue into her mouth.  
He feels her hand drop from his shirt. Then, to the fly of his jeans. He helps her unbutton them, both of their fingers clumsy with nerves. When she finally gets her hand into his boxers, he breaks off their kiss because he knows he needs to see her face the first time she touches his cock. 

Madi does not disappoint. Her mouth swollen and cherry red from kissing, pupils blown to shit, neck flushed. She wraps her hand around his cock, barely able to close her fist around it. He watches the way that makes her both hot and terrified. 

He loves the way she blushes a little and looks away from him, almost like she’s shy. He loves the moments where the soft Madi, beneath all the anger and sharpness, peaks out. Reminds him how delicate and precious and young she is, how little she knows of the world. Even if she’s been fucked before, he knows she’s never experienced anything like him.

“Can I see it?” she asks, peering up at him. The mixture of curiosity and lust in her eyes is making him possibly hard. She looks like a kid on Christmas morning, about to unwrap their presents. 

“Only if you take off your shirt for me.”

Madi rolls her eyes but does it all the same. She’s wearing a bralette, with a little black bow in the middle. He can see her nipples through the lace, pretty and pink. He reaches out, brushes his thumb across one of them through the fabric. Madi’s moan seems to catch her by surprise and her cheeks turn the same color as her nipples. 

“Bra too,” he says. 

She does as he says. Smiles big and mean when she sees the way his eyes go wide and his mouth goes hungry at the sight of her small, perfect breasts. He immediately reaches out, desperate to taste them, to tease her sensitive skin between his teeth but she slaps his hand away.

Her smile has a new, serrated edge to it. 

“Not yet,” she says. She hops off the counter and stands in front of him. “Take off your shirt too,” she says, mimicking the rough way he speaks when he’s telling her what to do. He does not like how much he likes it, the quickness with which he sheds his remaining clothing. 

The hot weight of her eyes on him makes it worth it. 

She drops to her knees and the visual of that alone is almost enough to make him come. She traces her fingers along the veins, teasing him. He lets her have her fun for a little, until she grasps her firmly and pumps him in earnest. She isn’t great at it but, something about the clumsiness of her hand, the eagerness in her eyes, the focus of her brow, is driving him fucking crazy and he has to grip the counter to hold himself together. 

Just when he thinks he can’t take anymore, she sucks the head of his cock into her mouth and the sound he makes is more animal than man.

Madi lets it out of her mouth with a wet pop. Her lipgloss is smudged all over her mouth and it makes her look positively filthy. She grins a devil’s grin at him before taking him back into her mouth. She’s tentative, at first, little kitten licks, but, it does not take long for him to make that same noise again once more, just as loud.

“Fucking hell, Madi,” he says, placing his hand on her head. “You need to stop doing that,” he adds, grabbing her ponytail in his hand. She doesn’t stop, keeps licking at him in that dirty-sweet way of hers, her eyes dancing with delight. 

Another minute and he’s gonna come, he just knows it, and he yanks on her ponytail, in the hopes that the pain will stop her, but that just eggs her on even more, makes her lick his cock like a lollipop, staring up at him with those eyes of hers and he almost loses it, like a fucking teenager. Before he does, he grabs her by the shoulder and to her feet, hard enough that she lets out a little yelp.

“Hey, what was that for?”

He does not answer her with words. 

Instead, he takes the small width of her shoulders between his hands and moves her, from the kitchen to the dining room. When he backs her up against the dining room table, he sees her eyes go wide with fear for the first time.

He’s tempted to apologize, to hold himself back, but he knows that a girl like her needs a firm hand. He grabs her chin in his hand, forces her to look him in the eye. Wedges his knee between her legs, just so she’s surrounded completely. Feels his thigh dampen with her arousal as she wants for him to make his next move.

“You think you’re so fucking smart, don’t you?” 

She smirks. “What? You embarrassed because I almost made you come in like a minute?”

He hates how much her sly expression and acid tongue turn him on. How, the reason he’s let himself have her is because he likes it when she hurts him. The enjoyment he takes in reveling in her distaste. It feels familiar and worn, like an old coat, forgotten at the back of his closet.

“No. I just want to make something abundantly clear to you, Madi,” he says. He moves his leg so he can pull her shorts and underwear off of her. “This isn’t like before. You’re not the one calling the shots. I am.” She makes no move to stop him but he can feel her trembling. 

She’s so beautiful like this, terrified and fuck-hungry. 

He places his hands on her shoulders and turns her around. Lets out a soft sigh at the perfect curve of her ass. Places his hand on her back and pushes it down so her breasts are pressed against the beautiful glass dining table that they ate dinner at together, all those weeks ago, before they turned into this. 

“Have you been fucked before?” he asks her. He smooths his hand up and down her back, like he would a skittish cat. Kicks her legs apart so he can get a good look at her pussy, pink and dripping. Traces a finger through the wet and her whole body jumps. A blush spreads up her neck. 

“Yes. But only once,” she says and he can hear the uneasiness in her voice. When he places his hand on her back, he can feel her heart beating, small and strong like a rabbit caught by a dog. 

He spreads her pussy and watches her arousal pool on the clear glass of the table. Watches her soft skin quiver, desperate for his touch. He draws his fingers through it and uses it to slick up his cock. 

Before she had deliberately disobeyed him, Bellamy had planned on taking it easy on her. Not too easy, of course, but, easy enough that she would not be sore in the morning. But, it’s clear that leniency will get him nowhere with her. 

She is not the type of girl who will love you for all the ways you are kind to her; no, she is the sad sort that will love you for all the ways that you are cruel. 

“This is going to hurt,” he tells her, plainly, before placing his cock at her entrance. Pauses there for a moment, so she can feel how wide he is. His greedy girl reacts just the way he expected: arching her back and pushing her ass against him, impatient as fucking ever. 

Just for that, he does not take it slow or gentle or sweet. No, instead, he thrusts as much of his cock into her as he possibly can. It hurts him at least half as much as it hurts her, her pussy tight like a vice around him. Still, it’s too fucking good. The type of pleasure that reveals the very wick of you and holds a flame to it. He wishes he could hold himself back, that he could be kind to her, but he’s never needed anything more than he needs to be buried inside her. 

“More,” Madi, whines, pushing her ass against him. He can see that her face is red, that tears are pouring down her cheeks. “Please, Bellamy.”

He glances down to watch her pussy swallow him. It’s perhaps one of the most filthy things he’s ever seen and he groans at the sight of it. “You’re doing so good, baby. So good at taking my cock,” he tells her once he’s fully seated inside of her. 

He presses a steadying hand to her back. His first thrust inside her is tentative and she hates that, grinding against him with desperate hips. “Is that all you can do?” she asks and he can hear the mocking edge in her voice as she looks over her shoulder and glares at him, looking every inch the petulant, little slut that she is. 

He does not answer her with words. Instead, he pulls his cock outside of her and then slams it back in as hard as he possibly can. Madi’s answering cry sings through his body and he knows he needs to hear it, again and again and again. He fucks her hard and fast, the table rocking against the floor. Grabs her ponytail in his hand and pulls so hard she screams and then begs him to pull it even harder. She’s only interested in things that hurt and he’s more than happy to give that to her, only fucking her deep and hard and brutal. 

She does not ask him to make her come as much as she screams it at him with a throat worn raw. He’s ready for it when she asks - is able to slow the burn of pleasure so he can give it to her. Drops his hand to her swollen, desperate clit and draws sharp circles across it until she shatters. 

He had planned to pull out - to come on her back - but her orgasm makes this impossible as her pussy milks his cock for everything he has and she begs him for it, asks her to fill her up with his cum, so he does it, because he already knows that he’s always gonna give her what she wants. 

After, he collapses on top of her. Her body is warm and solid and soft beneath his. Reaches out, and wipes a tear away from her eye. 

“You’re squishing me. Get off!” she says, right when he’s starting to feel soft and sentimental toward her. With a grunt, he lifts his body off of her. Once he steps away, she turns around and sits up. 

The minute she sits up, his cum spills out of her, milky and white. He’s transfixed by it. Madi glances down. 

“Well, I guess you’re gonna have to get me some Plan B,” she says, ever-so-nonchalant. 

“Guess so.”

She drops her hand to the mess he’s made of her. Draws her fingers through it and then lifts it to her face, to inspect it more closely. It sounds a twinge of arousal through his softening cock. 

“Lick it up,” she tells him. Her mouth is the sharpest that it’s ever been. He thinks he might be in love. Like a man possessed, he gets on his knees and licks the his cum out of her pussy, until she comes again and again and again.

*

After is easier than he expected. Once she’s gotten her fill of him, she asks him to drive her to Walgreens to get Plan B and some snacks. The car ride is silent, but she keeps her hand on his thigh his whole time like she has something to prove. 

He tells her to stay in the car. She does not like that. “You don’t even know what kind of snacks I like,” she says, indignantly. She unbuckles her seatbelt. He throws his arm out and buckles her right back in.

“Just fucking tell me what you want. We can’t go in there together. I look like I could be your father and I don’t think the pharmacist is gonna look kindly on me buying Plan B, with you standing next to me.”

Madi laughs. It’s a sweet sound, even though he can tell it’s at his expense. “Is that why you’re into me? Because I look like I could be your daughter?”

He glares at her but that does not keep the flush from creeping up his neck. “Just tell me what fucking snacks you want so I can make sure you don’t become a teen mom.”

She acquiesces, if only because parenthood is not an attractive prospect to her either. Though, he can’t deny the rush that comes with picturing her pregnant with his child. Still, he knows that will just get him arrested, so he goes into the drug store and gets her Plan B, along with Reese’s, Totino’s Pizza Rolls, Sour Punch Straws, and an unholy amount of Doritos. As he pays for the sack of junk food, he remembers that Clarke requested that he made sure her daughter eats some vegetables. Since he’s now fucked said underage daughter without protection, he thinks he owes Clarke at least that.

On their way home, he picks up a pizza and a Caesar salad from their neighborhood pizza place. It’s not perfect, but it’s better than her eating Doritos for dinner. 

He does not know why he stays. When he pulls into Clarke’s driveway, he tells himself that this needs to end. He’s done the worst thing that he could possibly do. He knows that if he stays around her, it will only get worse. He never thought he would lick his own cum out of another person’s body yet, when Madi asked him to, he could not imagine doing anything else. She has a terrifying sort of power over him and he knows that nothing good will come of it. 

Madi gets out of the car. When he remains seated, she leans back in. “What’re you doing sitting there?” she asks, tilting her head a little. She changed into sweatpants and a big t-shirt before they went to the store. He was thankful for it, because he thought it would mean that he would not be as easily manipulated, but, he can see that she did not put a bra on he can see her nipples, pebbling hard against the loose cotton. 

“I…I don’t know,” he says. She stares at him hard. For the first time since he walked into the kitchen this evening, she looks like a 16 year old girl, soft and tender and scared. She stoops lower, so she can look him in the eye.

“I know my mom asked you just to make sure I got dinner. But…could you maybe stay over? With me? The house is really big and I get…” she looks away from him, embarrassed. “I’m still kinda afraid of the dark.”

Something terrible and wonderful and too much takes root in his chest. He does not want to name it, because he knows that naming it would destroy him, and the small life he’s created, the good, decent life that he had thought he deserved. 

“Of course, baby,” he says, and he follows her into the house, holding her small hand in his.

*

They eat pizza together, sitting on the couch, watching the 3rd season of The Office, upon Madi’s request. He insists on her eating some salad, which she refuses, until he promises her to fuck her again if she finishes her bowl. And, he does, on the couch, with her sitting on his lap and bouncing on his dick hard and fast. He comes inside her again, but he decides that it’s okay since she took the Plan B as soon as they got back to the house. 

“I’ll ask my mom to get me a birth control prescription,” she says as she cleans herself up. Bellamy just stares at her, knowing that he should tell Madi not to. That, there’s no reason that she needs to go on birth control because he isn’t going to sleep with her again but, instead, he smiles at her and says: “good.” 

After, they finish the bottle of wine that she opened when he came over. Over the course of the night, they migrate closer and closer together, until she’s resting her head on his chest her head on his chest and his arm is wrapped around her. At one point, she goes uncharacteristically quiet and he realizes that she’s fallen asleep, her breath soft and hot against his skin.

He lets her sleep like that for too long. At first, it’s because he’s enjoying the peace and quiet, but, he soon realizes that it’s not just that. The precious, too tight feeling that rises in his chest when he looks down at her sleeping face.

He wakes her up when it’s close to midnight. She comes to drowsily, like a puppy roused from from a deep slumber. She blinks up at him, mouth tacky. “How long was I out?” she asks, her voice sticking in her throat with sleep. She sits up and rubs at her eyes. He hands her a glass of water and she gulps it down greedily.

“Not too long,” he says, getting up. Her eyes go panic wide. 

“Are you leaving?”

His heart breaks at the fear in her voice. He shakes his head. Reaches out to her and pulls her to his feet. “Just for a bit. To get some clothes and my toothbrush. I’ll be back before you know it. How about you go upstairs and get ready for bed? I’ll meet you up there.”

This seems to placate her. To his surprise, she goes up on her tippy-toes and kisses him on the lips, innocent as anything. This gesture rocks him to his core. He does not know what to do with his heart and the way it keeps softening for her.

“Sounds good,” she says. She walks up the stairs, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

*

When he walks into his house, it looks just like it did before he left. The cup of coffee that he had been drinking before Clarke called him is still sitting on the counter. His dirty work clothes are still on the floor of his bedroom where he left them when he got home. His bed is unmade and there’s still half a joint, sitting in the ash-tray by his bedside, that he had been saving to smoke before he went to sleep..

Standing here, he can almost pretend that he didn’t do it. That he hadn’t spent the better part of the the past evening, either inside Clarke’s daughter or pressed up against her. She trusted him and he knows that everything that he has done is the deepest betrayal of that.

He wishes he had been stronger, better, good enough. It’s what he’s been trying to do his whole life and he thought he had finally accomplished it, that the small, decent life that he had stretched out before him erased the taint of his mother and her sins that she had passed onto him: a faulty temper, a weak will, an insatiable need for more, a selfishness that went deep to the bone. 

A life that should have led him to Clarke and a normal, adult relationship with her. He gave up himself to Madi so quickly that that life had never really stood a fighting chance. 

With a heavy heart, he gathers up his belongings. He will let himself have this weekend with her and then he’ll end it. Maybe sell his house, move somewhere else. Octavia has always told him that he should live somewhere other than Oregon, at least for a little while. He knows that his mom’s old house will fetch him a pretty penny, given how Portland’s housing market is nowadays. And, he’ll try to be a good man again. Try to find a way to redeem himself from what he has done. 

When he enters Madi’s bedroom, she’s sleeping. She stirs when he opens the door. “Shh, go back to sleep,” he says, before closing the door behind him. In the dark, he takes off his clothes and changes into pajamas. He slips in bed next to her. Her body is sleep warm and small against his and she curls into him. 

“I thought you weren’t going to come,” she says, her voice small. He wishes he was the man that she thought him to be. Good enough to resist her and the promise of her warmth against him. 

“I told you I would,” is all he says. She makes a contented hum at that and burrows deeper into his arms. He tightens his grip, holding her closer. Presses a kiss to the back of her head. He feels terrible, for what he’s done to her. The way he’s held her accountable for it. She’s just a girl who’s scared of the dark and he made her into some type of sexual mastermind. 

“I’m going to end things with your mother,” he says, finally, into the dark of the night, when he thinks she’s asleep. 

Madi sits straight up. Reaches out and turns on the bedside lamp. “What did you just say to me?”

Bellamy stares at her in shock. He hadn’t been expecting that. If anything, he had thought that she would have been happy, until he told her that he was ending things with her as well and that she probably was never going to see him again.

“I’m going to end what’s going on between me and your mom. It’s not right. Given what’s happened between us,” he says. 

She’s never looked at him like this before. It stirs a terrible, disquieting feeling inside him, almost as if there’s a storm raging in his chest. With great certainty, he knows that he never wants her to look at him like this ever again. 

“You can’t do that, Bellamy,” she says. The certainty in her voice makes the storm even worse. 

“Why not? Do you really want me to be with your mother, after what we did tonight?”

Madi winces at his words. Almost as if this is the first time she had considered the affect her actions might have on her mother. “What we did doesn’t matter. I’m never going to tell her. You’re never going to tell her. She’s never going to find out,” she says, indignantly, but he can tell she’s only half-convinced of it from the way her voice wavers toward the end. 

“You don’t understand, Madi. How could you want a man like me, to be with her? A man who would do what I just did? You’re 16 years old, Madi. I should have rejected you, immediately. Fuck, I shouldn’t even have looked at you the way I did, when we first met,” he says. He hears his voice breaking, can feel tears stinging at his eyes but he rubs them away with stubborn, angry hands. 

She pulls his hands away from his face. Holds them in hers. “Before my mom met you, she was so sad. The divorce…It was really bad. Her and Lexa fought a lot and I knew it’s because of me. Because Lexa didn’t like me. And, she moved here because of me and I know she doesn’t know anyone here and she doesn’t have any friends. But, when she met you, it made her really happy. Happier than she’s been in a really long time,” she says. He can hear her voice trembling, can see her trying not to cry. 

“You can’t end things with her. Not yet. Not with what’s going on with my grandma. She’s going to need you, Bellamy.”

“Madi…”  
“Please. Stay with her. For me.”

He wants to believe that this time it will be different. That, he won’t bend to her will just as easily as he has every other time. He wants to think that what she’s saying isn’t appealing to him. As fucked up as it is, despite what has happened between him and Madi, it hasn’t perverted his feelings for Clarke at all. He still thinks of her fondly, still feels his heart beating faster at the thought of her. And, he can’t deny the sick thrill he gets at the idea of fucking Clarke and finding all the ways that she’s different from and similar to Madi.

“If I stay with her, does that mean that this is over?”

He does not know what answer he wants.

Madi laughs, loud and giddy. The sound startles him. “Of course not. No, my grandma gets sick a lot. Like, a lot, a lot. She really has a problem. My mom has to go see her sometimes twice in one month. Once, even three times and one of the times, she was gone for a week. There’ll be plenty of time for us to fuck,” she says, so matter-of-fact it takes his breath away. 

She lays back down next to him. Grinds her ass against his pajama pants. She’s only wearing a tiny t-shirt and a pair of baby pink panties. He can see them darkening with her wetness. Can feel his cock hardening, as her proposal begins sound more and more appealing to him. 

“In fact, I’m ready for round 3 if you are.”

He knows what he’s going to do before it happens this time. The ease with which he’ll bend and the extent to which he’ll do it. It should terrify him more. Should make him feel more powerless, but, as he plunges his cock into her for the third (and no doubt, not the last) time, he feels quite the opposite. No, this is the freest he’s ever felt. 

And, afterward, when the sweat cools on his skin and Madi tucks herself under his arm, sated and sleepy, he does start to wonder if the speech she gave him, all about how sad Clarke is, about how happy Bellamy’s made her, and all the good he’s brought to their lives, sounded a bit rehearsed. Almost as if she had thought of it, earlier. Knowing that it would make him do what she wanted. 

It is with simultaneous horror and then, much stronger, euphoria, that he realizes that he doesn’t really give as shit, as long as he gets to keep this terrible, hungry, no-good girl with a smile like a knife and a tongue like cyanide.


End file.
